White Noise
by CelticKnot12
Summary: "What about you?" "I'll never forgive myself." How could he? He had killed his son. Destroyed the very life he loved.


**_Just a short little story. I wrote this one by myself, though SupremeCommanderOfPencils helped edit it. Let me know what you think. Drop a review :)_**

Jack O'Neill sat alone in his dimly lit bedroom. Memories that he struggled to suppress fought their way to the front of his brain.

A gunshot.

A scream.

Pain.

Emotional pain so all-consuming that it was difficult to hold on.

He could just let go.

No. Jack struck himself mentally. He was a fighter. Always had been.

So why didn't he want to fight?

He wanted so badly to forget. _Needed_ to forget. But each time he closed his eyes, the scene replayed.

Gunshot.

Scream.

Pain.

He groaned. His son…

His son. He had to pull it together for Charlie. Charlie wouldn't want to see him like this. Maybe, in some small way, it would be a memorial.

Ease the pain.

What a stupid thought. Jack would have laughed if he had the strength. Or energy. Or desire.

Just let go…

It played through his mind again.

And again.

He stood up and slammed his fist into the wall. Chunks of drywall and dust sprayed into the air as the pain dulled his mind.

The conversation with Daniel earlier that day returned to him.

"What about you?"

"I'll never forgive myself."

How could he? He had killed his son.

Destroyed the very life he loved.

Jack drew his fingers across his face. A glimmer of red on his knuckles distracted him. He was bleeding.

Blood…

He stood, walked slowly to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his hand.

Walking back to the bedroom, he glanced at the phone glaring at him from its place on a cluttered desk. Almost against his own will, his fingers had curled around it and were punching in a number.

His thumb hesitated over the call button before he depressed it.

It rang four times before there was an answer.

"Hello?" Samantha Carter's voice sounded groggy, as though she had just awakened.

Jack glanced at the red numbers on the clock. 2:30 A.M.

Oops.

"Hi, Carter. I didn't realize how late it was, sorry."

"Oh, that's okay, sir. I was just—"

"Sleeping?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

A long silence stretched between the two. It wasn't uncomfortable, though both felt as though something should be said. Neither knew what to say.

"I shouldn't have called. Sorry."

"It isn't like you to apologize so much."

"Sorry."

"Haha."

"I'm glad you think so."

Another pause.

"I'm having a bad night."

"I'm sorry."

"This town ain't big enough for the two of us."

"You're right, I take it back."

A smile slid onto Jack's lips despite his mood.

"So, what's wrong?"

"I keep thinking about Charlie." This felt so wrong. What was she, his therapist?

"Oh."

"What a consolation."

He could hear a smile in her reply that didn't fit the conversation, yet seemed appropriate.

"I can't say I'm sorry, I won't say it goes away, and I'm not going to tell you to try to forget."

"I want to."

"If Charlie hadn't died, none of us would have met." She used no names, but "us" was immediately understood to be SG-1.

"We might have."

"The probability is next to nothing."

"You can't miss what you don't know."

"True."

Silence.

"Did you ever wish you could change the past?" Jack pulled the towel away. The bleeding had stopped.

"Oddly enough, we can."

"Except we can't."

"Is this a role reversal or what?"

"I'm not feeling up to par and you're half asleep."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"You woke me up." Somewhere, the need for periodical "sirs" had disappeared.

"For which I apologized."

"Twice."

Silence again.

"Feeling better?"

Despite the redundancy of the conversation, he was.

"Actually, yes."

"Remember the good times, don't forget the bad. Just don't let the bad take the good away."

"How… profound."

"Thanks. I think I read something like that somewhere."

"Cheater."

"Yes sir." When his vulnerability dwindled, the military in her snapped back to attention.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"G'night."

"Goodnight, sir."

Neither had said much.

But it still helped.

Jack sat on his bed and closed his eyes.

No gunshots.

Pointless techno-babble had taken up residence in his mind, creating a silent sort of white noise.

And he didn't mind.


End file.
